


It's Not Refraction, It's Just Our Cracked Sense Of Self

by nothing_rhymes_with_ianto



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-15
Updated: 2012-06-15
Packaged: 2017-11-07 20:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto/pseuds/nothing_rhymes_with_ianto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto has had enough of Owen's self-pity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Refraction, It's Just Our Cracked Sense Of Self

Ianto watches Owen's head slowly dropping onto his desk. He knows the medic has been spiking his own coffee far more heavily than is advised. Owen has been sinking into a very obvious bout of depression and self-pity over Jack's departure, wallowing unhappily in his coffee mug and his autopsy patients and Ianto is sick of it. Owen's head collides with desk-edge with a nice thump, and he starts back up again. It's the disappointed noise that comes out of Owen's mouth that jerks Ianto into action. It's not the way the doctor looks at him like he doesn't even see him. It isn't at all.  
  
"What is wrong with you?" And Owen doesn't even flinch back from the hand slammed on the desk. "Are you so self-obsessed that one person disappearing is going to make you give up? Are you just going to wallow in self-pity all day like a coward instead of getting up and doing something?"  
  
"I'm not a coward," Owen mumbles.  
  
"No, you're a selfish bastard with shit for brains. If you can't deal with your own crap on your own time, you're a worthless doctor."  
  
Ianto expects the fist flying at his face but not the foot to his shin. They go down hard, kicking and punching. Owen gets an elbow in Ianto's chest and knocks the wind out of him, but Ianto gets a good grip on Owen's bad shoulder and flips them around so he's on top. Ianto's bigger and even though he's all angles, Owen's a skinny bastard. Owen bucks up against him, struggling, then drops back, giving up. They're both panting.  
  
Owen leers up at him. "Are you _hard_?"  
  
Ianto winces and groans, dropping his head back. He rolls off Owen and they lie on the autopsy room floor beside each other.  
  
"You're fucked up, you know that?"  
  
"I work for Torchwood, Owen. So are you."  
  
Owen's hand gropes out into the air and lands on Ianto's belly, creeping down until it cups his erection and squeezes. Ianto squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to react. He feels Owen scoot closer, feels lips on his cheek.  
  
"I'm just as fucked up," Owen's voice says in his ear. "I guess it's a required trait."  
  
They both know his is a bad idea. Jack's gone and they're all lost and everything is a mess but fucking is better than fighting-- on most levels, anyway-- so he presses up into Owen's hand and turns his head. The medic's eyes are glittering and Ianto wonders if he's wearing the same desperate expression.  
  
His own hand reaches towards Owen. "All right."  



End file.
